Wrong Text, Right Love

by Claudia Burgoa

  I don’t care if we spend time at the apartment or shopping.

  “I thought we were going to the mall,” I say, as we enter a shop down on Filmore and Third.

  “No, I like to buy local,” she answers. “Also, I get things that are more me and less…”

  “Persy?”

  She cracks a laugh. “I am her. She is me. Just… I wear designer stuff when they send that to me. It’s part of what I do.”

  “You take pictures with your real clothes, right?”

  “Of course,” she says, placing a purple beret on top of my head and a pair of sunglasses. “You look beautiful. If you let me, I could dress you up.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with what I wear,” I state.

  She glances at me, her eyes sweeping me slowly, and I shiver just thinking about getting her naked and doing the same with her.

  “Perhaps…” She grabs a red infinity scarf. “And please know this is just an idea. You can add a little color to your dark shirts.”

  Flailing her hands while twirling a couple of times around the store, she continues, “It would make you look less serious and more—”

  “Like you?” I grab a big straw hat and put it on her head. “Why don’t you focus on counseling minds and leave the fashion part of my persona to … well, me.”

  “That’s boring, but acceptable. I wouldn’t want to change you,” she says and grabs a dress. “What do you think?”

  “Not my color,” I warn her. “It would match your place though.”

  She gives me a look and then arches her eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”

  “The apartment … well, it looks like the sunset threw up in the entire apartment,” I affirm, grabbing a wrap thingy that’s pale pink. Is that even a shade?

  Her eyes grow big, and she hugs it. “This is my new favorite thing.”

  “Until you grow tired of it?”

  “Nope, some of my clothes stay with me forever. Mostly the basics, like this one,” she explains and puts it next to the dress. “They match perfectly.”

  “Let me buy them for you.”

  She glares at me. “Thank you, but I can buy my own things. If you want to do something nice, add some change to the jar on the register.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” I clarify.

  “I get it. It’s a nice gesture, but that’s not how friendships work,” she says, grabbing a few more things and disappearing into a dressing room.

  In less than a minute, I receive an alert on my phone. @LifewithPersy posted a picture. Okay, I might have a few alerts set up around her social media, so I can see when and what she posts. Fuck, when did I become that guy? Am I pathetic?

  When I open the application, I smile. She’s wearing the first dress she picked up and the light pink coverup. #NewOutfit, #ThinkPink, #HappyisU, #LifewithPersy.

  “Have I ever mentioned you are always too colorful?”

  She peaks behind a drape and glares at me. “Are you looking at me?”

  I show her the phone where I found her picture. She smiles. “Are you stalking me?”

  “It’s called ‘following,’” I clarify. “What can I say? I kind of like you.”

  Her eyes open wide, and I think she’s not breathing.

  “We are friends, aren’t we?”

  She nods, stepping back into the dressing room without saying a word, and I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen her quiet. What just happened?

  There’s an advantage to Lang. I can text her and ask questions that I’m uncomfortable to ask as myself.

  Lang: What are you doing?

  Joy: Out with a friend.

  Lang: Just a friend.

  Joy: Yes, he’s just a friend.

  Joy: Are you out with your girlfriend?

  Lang: She’s still just a friend, and yes, I’m out with her.

  Joy: On a date?

  Lang: If this was a date, things would be more serious between us. They aren’t there.

  Joy: Are you ‘friend-dating?’

  Lang: Is that a term?

  Joy: It could be. We’ve gone out on friend-dates.

  Lang: So, you have a thing for this guy who you are ‘friend-dating.’

  Joy: :arch eyebrow:

  Joy: I never said I was out with a guy, but I don’t know. Maybe … he’s like you, you know. He steers away from relationships. I think I attract those kinds of men.

  Lang: And yet, you are still with him.

  Joy: I am not with him!

  Joy: Do I like him? Yes. He’s attractive—from a scale from 1 to hot, he’s scorching. I like the way he is, you know? He might be grumpy, but it’s easy to talk to him. He is a good friend, and even when he pretends not to care about anything, he cares about everyone.

  Joy: Anyway, let’s chat later.

  Lang: Have fun on your friend-date.

  Joy: You too.

  “I’m taking everything,” she says, coming out of the dressing room.

  “You didn’t post the rest of the outfits.”

  “One post is more than enough,” she claims and winks at me. “Trust me.”

  She pays for her items. I donate some cash to the jar they have, and we make our way toward the next store.

  “Is there something happening between us, Ford?” she asks.

  I grin and look at her when she comes to a stop.

  Her eyes flare with lust and some anger. “Listen, I could lie to you and say that you aren’t attractive or that I don’t find you … interesting.”

  “We’re going for interesting?” I ask.

  “Don’t be cocky,” she warns me. “I’m just getting a lot of mixed signals. By now you should know that I read people—not that I do it well. The problem is that you are a commitment-phobe and I … I’m done with guys like that. This isn’t me pushing you to do something you don’t want to. It’s more like asking you not to lead me on, because I might fall for you.”

  I sigh in puffs of breaths, placing my hands on my hips. “I can’t understand why you lasted so long with those losers when you are so matter of fact.”

  “Not with them,” she confesses. “I was myself, and yet, I wasn’t paying enough attention until it was too late.”

  “You want me to stop sending you mixed signals then?”

  She gives me a sharp nod. “I’d appreciate that because I’d be lying if I said that I won’t fall for your charm. Let me tell you, Mister, you are pretty charming and kind of swoony.”

  I have an overwhelming urge to kiss her. I behaved myself last night. She was too distressed, and I was focused on making sure she was doing well. Now, this bold woman who is trying to decipher my intentions … well, I want to kiss the fuck out of her. But I’d take it slow, feathering kisses on her face, before my mouth touches her plump lips.

  This would be the perfect moment to thread my hands though her curls, hold the side of her head, and just take what I need. A kiss.

  “Persy,” I whisper, bending closer. My lips hovering only inches from hers. Her soft breath caresses my skin. We are so close. Her eyes widen.

  “Don’t do it if you don’t mean it,” she whispers. “Please.”

  “I don’t think we are ready,” I say, releasing her from the hold. “Not here, not now.”

  “Ford?” Her voice sounds as confused as my reaction.

  I caress her cheek. “I’m working on it, and I just ask that you to be patient.”

  “Mixed signals,” she says, in a singalong tone.

  “Sorry, that’s the last thing I want to do. Just… let’s keep this friendly, until we are both ready,” I propose. “You are still looking for the man of your dreams. And my name or picture can’t ever be on your social media—or your book. Ever.”

  “That’s not a big deal.” She glances at me thoughtfully. “If I didn’t know better, I’d ask if you are part of the witness protection program.”

  “No, but close enough,” I semi-joke, grabbing her hand, entwining our fingers. “Let’s go hom
e.”

  Lang: Goodnight!

  Joy: I don’t want to go to sleep.

  Lang: Why?

  Joy: I’ve been having nightmares.

  Lang: Have you thought about counseling?

  Joy: I… I’ll call a friend on Monday

  Lang: Counseling, not a friend.

  Joy: I’m a counselor myself. This friend will recommend the right person.

  Lang: So, you’re a shrink.

  Joy: We prefer the term therapist.

  Lang: Is there anyone who can stay with you tonight?

  Joy: …

  Joy: I don’t want to call my sister. She’s going to make a big deal out of it. Same with my parents.

  Lang: A friend? The one you hung out with today. He might be understanding.

  There’s a bang on the wall or maybe it’s the door.

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “Are you awake?” I look at my phone and sigh because wouldn’t it be easier if I just told her I’m the same person?

  “Are you okay?”

  Joy: What am I supposed to tell my friend?

  Lang: How would I know?

  Joy: I don’t want to sound like a little whiny child who needs company.

  Lang: You do need support. He’ll understand.

  Joy: I wish you were here, but with your newfound love, it’s never going to happen.

  Lang: Never said I was in love with her.

  Joy: So, you’re not in love?

  I look at the phone and think about what happened earlier, and you know what … I am falling for her. She told me not to lead her on, but the fact is that she’s been leading me on without even knowing it. Who wouldn’t fall for her voice, her wit… Everything about her is lovable. And, I have fun with her.

  Lang: I said I found my exception. I’m still trying to decide what to do with what I discovered.

  Joy: Right, because your parents had a bad marriage. What happened to your mom after the divorce?

  Lang: She left, and we never heard from her again … ever.

  Joy: Oh, so you have abandonment issues on top of having to deal with their bad marriage. That makes sense.

  Lang: You got that from what I said?

  Joy: Sorry, I’m trying not to put you inside of a box or label you … but this is a textbook case. After she left, did you try to look for her?

  Lang: Yes, she has a new family. I have two younger brothers and a sister.

  Joy: If I could, I would hug you.

  Lang: Are you calling your friend?

  Joy: Maybe. Do you think he’ll want to watch a movie with me?

  Lang: Weekend at Bernie’s. That should bring a smile to your face.

  Joy: What is that?

  Lang: Just search for it. Trust me.

  There’s a bang, and she asks, “Do you want to watch a movie?”

  “You don’t own a television,” I remind her and offer, “Why don’t you come over?”

  “I do.”

  “Not in your bedroom,” I remind her.

  “Mixed signals…,” she sings the words.

  “Persephone, here’s something loud and clear. I think you need company for the night, and I won’t be staying on your uncomfortable couch,” I explain. “Come over.”

  “You mean, walk through the forbidden door?”

  “Yes, maybe you can ask Simon to come with you, since he now thinks this is part of his domain,” I joke.

  Joy: Okay, I’m going to my friend’s house.

  Lang: Goodnight, Sweetheart.

  Joy: Can I text you before I go to bed.

  Lang: I think it’s best if we say goodnight now. Sweet dreams.

  Joy: You too.

  I’m already by the door when she knocks on it.

  “Come on in,” I say.

  “Hey,” she greets me.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “No. I’m sorry,” she apologizes, and I can’t help but take her into my arms and smell her scent.

  “Any time you need me to hold your hand, I’m here okay.” I kiss the top of her head, before releasing her and pulling her toward my bedroom. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I shouldn’t be analyzing myself, but I keep thinking ‘What is wrong with you, Persy?’”

  “What is wrong with Persy?” I ask.

  “Stress,” she answers. “Yoga is doing shit for me right now. Meditation … I haven’t been able to compartmentalize things.”

  “Let’s clear your mind,” I suggest.

  “This is your bedroom,” she states when we enter. “I…”

  She looks at herself and then at me. “We are just watching a movie.”

  I kiss her temple. “Let me choose something funny, so we don’t get frisky.”

  “Weekend at Bernie’s?” she asks, and I find it right away. It’s one of Nate’s and my favorite movies.

  I set some pillows against the headboard and pull her close to me. If I’m lucky, she’ll fall asleep next to me and won’t have any nightmares.

  Twenty-Nine

  Her

  Sunday, August 2nd

  Before I get ready for my parents’ visit, I write a blog post: Dates from Hell. I haven’t been on a date, but it’s obvious that I need to post more about those dates. I pull out the old journal where I write all the bad dates my friends and I’ve had since college. Then, I remember the one Nyx had just a couple of weeks ago.

  Persy: Please!

  Nyx: I hate when you start a conversation with that because you’re about to ask me something for your blog or your podcast.

  Persy: Can I use the guy that sent you the bill for half of your dinner?

  Nyx: Sorry, no. You might not be able to use it ever. We’re in the middle of a litigation. I’m agreeing to pay the half, as long as he pays for my expenses, which includes new shoes, new attire, and the beauty parlor to look good for the occasion.

  Persy: You are kidding me?

  Nyx: Nope. He wants to demand money to pay for his pitiful dinner, he found his match. The legal fees are going to make him think twice before he pulls some shit like this again. Plus, the lawyer is hot.

  Persy: I promise to tweak it. I just need a few samples of dates from hell.

  Nyx: Fine, but first send it over for approval. I can give you a few more ideas. Remember the guy who lived in Cherry Hills?

  Persy: Was that the one with the wife?

  Nyx: No. I totally forgot about the married one. I mean good for them. I don’t judge them for having an open marriage, but he should disclose that, and she shouldn’t be going on the date to give her seal of approval.

  Nyx: This is the one with the guy who was heating up leftovers in the kitchen, and his parents appeared. We had a great family dinner, and his father even hired me to work on a case.

  Persy: Sorry, it’s kind of boring.

  Nyx: How about the guy who showed me his martial arts skills during the date and broke our table?

  Persy: Oooh! That one was a good one. I ended up picking you up at the hospital.

  Nyx: The one where the guy showed me with his fingers, tongue, and a half tomato how he knows how to perform cunnilingus better than any other man—in the middle of a restaurant.

  I can’t stop laughing. Because I was actually close by watching the whole thing. It was embarrassing.

  Nyx: Would Callie get upset if you add the one where she dated the psychic?

  Persy: She forbid me to even mention we are related. I guess using her bad dates would be a big no. I wish I was a bad person, and I could just use some of her shitty dates.

  Nyx: Stop. I can’t keep laughing. People are staring at me. Why don’t you have bad dates?

  Persy: I’ve had my fair share. It’s just been so long that you forgot them. This time I am trying to avoid them. TTYL.

  Nyx: Coward. Send me anything you plan on posting or talking about for approval. Love you.

  Persy: Love you too!

  After I’m done writing the draft, I send it to Nyx with a note, ask
ing her to proof it while she’s deleting what she believes is oversharing. I’m sure she’s going to cut a lot of stuff. She’s pretty supportive, but she has her limits, and I respect them. Before I take a shower and wash away all the makeup I’m wearing, I change into my new yoga pants and take a few pictures of the exercise gadget I received on Friday.

  It’s a Barre/Pilates machine. They want me to try it, along with their app, which is free for the first year. I’m able to snap a selfie before the doorbell rings. As I take a step toward the inside of my apartment, I see my parents already making themselves at home.

  “We said six,” I remind them, looking at the time. It’s three.

  “We went to the Farmer’s Market, and I thought, Persephone might need food for tonight’s dinner,” Mom explains from the kitchen.

  Dad comes outside with a box and sets it on the patio table. “Strawberry Lager, per your request,” he announces. “I thought it’d taste better that way, since I added fruit to it.”

  “You are the best Dad ever,” I declare, opening the box.

  “No, wait. Go and get a glass. You know I like to recycle the bottles.”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes and head to the kitchen, where I hug Mom and kiss her cheek. “You brought a casserole with you,” I point out. “Mom, I can cook.”

  “Let me take care of you,” she says, opening the refrigerator. “This place is better than the others. Any chance that you can buy it from the owner.”

  “Well, I don’t have the money for a down payment on any place. Soon. I’ll save and get myself a nice home,” I explain.

  “You have to stop lending money to your brother,” she chides me.

  I don’t tell her that I’m about to ask for the money back, because I’m not writing a book that compromises my values. Tomorrow I’m calling Sheila, right after Nyx’s law firm serves her with a lawsuit.

  “This is the last time,” I defend myself.

  She gives me a skeptical glance and continues putting away all the food they brought me. The doorbell rings a second later, and my father walks past us, opening it. When I look at who is towering over Dad, I grunt.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, not amused, because we agreed that he had stuff to do and I had family coming over.